Cycling to Asylum

by Su J. Sokol

  I’m very tired now. With the morphine in my system, I might be able to sleep. Philip must sense this because he asks me if I want to close my eyes, try to take a nap.

  “Yeah, maybe. You probably need to go, anyway.”

  “No, I don’t have anywhere I have to be. I’m just taking Kyla to the park after this. She’s having a great time downstairs playing with Simon.”

  “Simon? How is he?”

  “Oh, he’s fine. You’ll see him yourself soon, don’t worry … Listen, Laek, I have an idea. I could tell you a story—to help you fall asleep. I’m getting pretty good at that, with Kyla. I know, a story about my love life. That’ll definitely put you right to sleep.”

  I laugh a little. It’s worth the twinge in my ribs to laugh with him. “Sure, I’d like to hear what’s going on with you. Gone out with anyone new lately?”

  “I had a date this weekend. Just wait, I’ll tell you about the whole evening and your eyes will be closing before you know it.”

  Already, my eyelids are heavy, even though I’m very interested in hearing about Phil’s date. I struggle to stay awake, at least for a few minutes, but there’s something about his voice, steady and familiar, that relaxes me as the morphine fully takes hold. I listen to him speaking, try to concentrate on the words, but they take flight in my mind. I’m losing the train of events …

  He’s stopped talking now. I don’t remember when the story ended. I feel him take my hand and I watch, eyelids drooping, as he leans down over me. My eyes are already closed when I feel his lips gently brush my own.

  NINETEEN

  Janie

  The family waiting area of the hospital was obviously not built with pacing in mind. I push past a row of chairs affixed to the floor and around a pile of dingy plastic toys. Where is Philip already? We’d agreed to half an hour max for the visit, but he’s been up there now for at least fifty minutes. I thought he’d understood how important it was not to tire Laek out. Physically, Laek’s not ready for visitors, but the doctor and I agreed that it was something he could benefit from psychologically. With Laek, the psychological trumps the physical.

  Finally, I see Philip coming around the corner.

  “You’ve been up there nearly an hour. I thought we said …”

  “He was asleep most of the time. I was just sitting with him. At least, after the first twenty-four minutes or so.”

  “Twenty-four minutes?” I ask.

  Now Philip’s a few paces away from me, looking around the waiting area for Kyla, who’s playing hide-and-seek with Simon. Close up, I can see how red Philip’s eyes are and that he’s been crying. My anger drains out of me.

  “It’s OK. He’s doing so much better now,” I tell him.

  I’d hoped this would cheer him up, but instead it makes him start crying all over again. I put my arms around him, feeling inadequate to the task, with my head barely reaching his chest.

  “How could we have come so close to losing him?” Philip sobs. “You poor thing, what you’ve been through. And dealing with it all alone.”

  I lead Philip to some chairs where we can keep an eye on the kids. What I’m thinking is how we can be leaving friends like this, and without even a word of warning or explanation. But no, all my needs, all my hopes, everything has shrunken to a tiny little point. Laek: alive, safe, well. Together with the kids. Period. Anything beyond that is a luxury I can’t afford to think about. Even friends. I’m done being greedy, with taking anything for granted. And true friends will understand why we had to keep our plans a secret.

  Philip is wiping his eyes roughly with the heels of his hands. I give him a tissue.

  “Can I visit again?” he asks. I’m not sure what to say. It will be increasingly difficult to hide our plans from Philip, the more we see of him. I stall.

  “How did the visit go? How did he seem to you?”

  “It was hard, I won’t lie. He doesn’t like other people to see him hurting.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I say.

  “But I think he was glad to see me. He shouldn’t be allowed to feel too alone. You know how he is. It’s not good for him.”

  And suddenly I can’t do it. As much as I fear for Laek, I just keep picturing Philip when he learns we’ve left without even a good-bye. Because the thing is, when I look into Philip’s eyes, red from crying, from the pain of seeing Laek suffer, it’s like a mirror. It’s one of those things that once you see it, you wonder how you could have missed it before. Their physical closeness, the emotional intimacy—even for best friends, I’d known it was unusual. And the way Philip’s eyes always track Laek’s movements … I’d taken that as a kind of brotherly protectiveness. But now other pieces fall into place as I realize that Philip loves Laek exactly the way I love Laek, and this realization crumbles any remaining resolve I have to keep our plans secret from him.

  “Listen. There’s something I need to tell you …”

  As I explain, in carefully coded phrases, what we’re planning to do and why, including what Laek thinks he saw on the newsfeed in the hospital, I watch Philip struggle not to cry again and my respect for him grows, because crying now would be for himself, not for Laek. Instead he swallows a lot and nods his head, even smiles slightly when I tell him the plan is to cross the border by bicycle.

  “You’re doing the right thing, Janie. Finding somewhere safe is what’s most important.”

  “It might not be safe.”

  “If Laek’s looked into this like you say he has … He’s very sharp about politics. I’m not saying there isn’t a risk, but … Look, most people stay on the path they’re already on, even when it’s a bad one. What you two are doing is smart and brave, and I’m proud to know you. I wish … I kind of wish I could join you there.”

  “You know you’d always be welcome. You’re like family. We could raise our kids together.” I look over at Simon chasing Kyla, then running ahead to make sure she doesn’t get too far away. He seems more mature lately.

  “Yeah, a tempting idea, only one little problem,” Philip says, looking at the kids too. “Dana would never go along with me taking Kyla across the border.”

  I can’t say I blame her. Especially with all the concerns about international travel these days. Suddenly I feel my own fears returning.

  “Philip, aside from my friend Magda, you’re the only one who knows about this.”

  “Thank you for trusting me. It means a lot. It would have been very … hard, not knowing this ahead of time.”

  “I understand.”

  I meet his eye and nod. He looks at me carefully, chewing on his lip, maybe wondering how much I do understand. After a moment, he breaks eye contact.

  “Janie, can I keep visiting Laek in the meantime, even though it might be difficult for me to hide what I know? If he figures it out, will that make him nervous?”

  “No, it’s OK, he wanted to tell you. It’s me who resisted. He trusts you completely.”

  “Good. Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

  “I should be getting back upstairs,” I say. “I don’t want to leave him too long.”

  We stand up, walk towards the middle of the room. Just then, Kyla comes flying into the back of Philip’s legs from behind, giggling.

  “Safe! Safe!” she cries, as Simon pretends to lunge at her.

  “I think it’s time to take you to the park.” Philip lifts Kyla up and flies her around his head as she giggles in delight. Simon is watching with a sad, dreamy smile. Philip looks down at Simon and then at me, lifting his eyebrows. I shrug.

  “Simon, would you like to come to the park with us?” Philip asks.

  “Can I, Mommy?”

  “Sure. I’ll ask Henry’s mom to pick you up later.”

  “OK, let’s go, kids. I’ll call you, Janie.”

  I watch Philip as he leans over and scoops Simon up in his free arm. Simon relaxes in Philip’s hold, leaning his head against his shoulder. Yes, I did the right thing.

  TWENTY

  L
aek

  I wake up feeling rested for the first time in a long while. I take a deep breath. Stretch my arms over my head. It hurts but it’s nothing I can’t handle. It’s time to be out of this place. Before that cop traces us here. Despite the false electronic trail that Dr. Metcalfe laid in the medical records. Leaving here means finishing with the drugs. Having a whole conversation about this isn’t something I feel up to, so I simply pull the micro-infuser from my arm. Toss it to the floor. The machine beeps softly in inquiry. Then turns itself off.

  Janie’s waking up in the chair next to my bed. Maybe it’s from the sound of the machine. Or maybe it’s just this sixth sense she has that tells her I’m awake. She looks exhausted.

  “How you doing, baby?” she asks, still yawning.

  “Better. Hand me that hairbrush and come up here. I want to brush your hair.”

  “I look that bad, huh?”

  “You look great. I just need to do something with my hands.”

  “You sure it’s OK? I mean, won’t it hurt?”

  “I’ll be careful with the tangles,” I tease her. “Come on, don’t make me beg you.”

  Janie climbs into bed carefully. I brush her hair. She seems to be enjoying it. But she’s holding herself stiffly erect. Like she’s worried about leaning back and hurting me.

  “It’s OK,” I say softly into her ear. “Relax. I won’t break, I promise.”

  I put the brush down and wrap my arms around her. Kiss her ear. She’s shaking a little. I think she may be crying. I kiss her neck and gently pull her back against me. I nuzzle her, rub her nipples with my fingertips, feel myself get hard. “You see? I didn’t break. Got harder, in fact.”

  Janie turns around to kiss me on the lips. “You know you’re crazy.”

  Just then Dr. Metcalfe comes in. Janie slips off the bed, blushing but happy. The doctor looks pointedly at the infuser lying on the floor. I shrug and give him my best smile. He picks it up, checking the monitors.

  “So how are you feeling this morning, Laek?”

  “A lot better. I’d like to talk about going home.”

  He asks my permission before reaching over to examine my ribs, a courtesy I appreciate. Dr. Metcalfe not only saved my life but has been unfailingly kind to both me and Janie. So I don’t understand why, when he places his hands lightly against my upper ribs, I suddenly feel so scared that I’m sick to my stomach.

  I close my eyes. Concentrate on my breathing. There’s a belief that some people can lay their hands on you and heal you. I visualize this, Dr. Metcalfe’s hands on my rib cage, a cool blue light coming from his fingertips and knitting my bones together. And I do feel good now. My breath has slowed. I’m relaxed. I let myself feel his calloused fingertips on my skin, imagine I can smell the faint tobacco scent that’s always there, from a smoking habit he tries to hide.

  I suddenly realize he’s been calling my name, gently but insistently.

  “I’m here,” I answer.

  “Laek, stay with us now. I need you to open your eyes. Otherwise, I’m not going to be able to complete this examination.

  “OK.” I open my eyes. The doctor’s giving me a concerned look. “I’m fine.”

  “I was asking you to tell me when it hurt.”

  “I guess it didn’t hurt. I feel good.”

  “Laek, can you tell me how many of your ribs I’ve checked?” He waits. “Or how long the examination has lasted so far?”

  “Um … I’m not sure.” I glance at the doctor for a clue and then at Janie. Janie’s looking grim in her chair in the corner of the room.

  “I’m sorry. I was just … thinking about something. I must have lost track of … of things. Let’s try it again.” I lift my arms and try to put them behind my head, but I’m shaking so badly I can’t manage to lace my fingers together.

  Janie jumps out of her chair and puts her arms around me. “Shh, it’s OK, you can put your hands down.”

  I hold her. I’m fine again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s the matter with me,” I say.

  “It’s OK, Laek. Let’s try this another way,” Dr. Metcalfe replies.

  The doctor helps me to a chair and instructs Janie to stand behind it and hold my arms up for me. With my hands in Janie’s, it’s easier to stay present. Still, the examination is more grueling than I’d expected. By the end, I’m sweating and shaky and short of temper. But when the doctor asks me how I’m doing, I tell him “fine.” He then asks if I want to walk around a little. I’m eager to do anything that brings me one step closer to discharge.

  We walk into the corridor and down the hall. I’m shocked at how weak I feel. How shaky and stiff. I don’t want to admit how relieved I am to get back. The doctor suggests I sit in the chair instead of getting back into bed. I’m grateful for this. Even though I’m almost shaking with exhaustion, being in the chair instead of the bed makes me feel less defeated.

  “I’m very pleased with the progress you’ve made over the past couple of weeks.”

  I smile. Maybe he’ll send me home.

  “But you need to understand that you’ve been through a lot. It’s important not to push yourself too hard, to have unreasonable expectations.”

  “I’m not. I … I won’t.”

  “It’s not only your physical injury. When a person is injured as the result of any trauma, it’s difficult enough. But when the injury is the result of an act of violence …”

  My heart races as his words bring it all flooding back. I remember the shocking impact of the p-stick, the sick sound of my bones crunching, the taste of blood in my throat, and even before the excruciating pain, the terrible sense of wrongness in my body. I try to shake it off.

  “How much do you know about post-traumatic stress disorder?” Dr. Metcalfe asks.

  I shrug. Look out the window. Imagine being outside.

  “Extreme anger, panic attacks,” he begins. “If left untreated, things can get much worse. There can be memory loss, insomnia, anxiety, depression, even suicidal thoughts.”

  Janie squeezes my hand hard, but I concentrate on feeling nothing.

  “And it can be worse for someone who may have experienced trauma in the past.”

  I look at him at this point, and then at Janie, wondering what he knows. He seems to have read my thoughts because he says: “I promise you, Janie has told me nothing about your past. But as you probably realize, your medical history is full of holes. That alone tells me something. Laek, the first step in treating the problem is acknowledging it.”

  He pauses again, waiting for me to reply, but I have nothing to say. He sighs. “I’ll give Janie some references. For when you’re ready. I understand that it’s all a bit much right now.”

  “If there’s more, say it now. I don’t want to have this conversation twice.”

  “No, only … That thing you do, the way you can disappear inside yourself. I can see it’s been an important survival mechanism for you. But I want you to understand that it’s … It’s really very scary. You may think you can control it, but—”

  “Yeah, OK.” If he’s not going to let me go home, I just want him to leave now. I can’t think about all this. Simply sitting has become a trial. I put my face in my hands. I know I should thank him or something. I pull my hands away. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done. But I just want to go home. I need to see my kids.” I hear my voice catch because what I really need is to get my kids somewhere safe.

  “Laek,” he says gently. “I don’t want you to feel you’re a prisoner here. If you continue to improve, I’ll be willing to discharge you in a few days. But you’ll still need lots of rest and care. Maybe when you’re well, you could take a little vacation.”

  “That’s exactly what we’re planning,” Janie says. “Next month, we’re going up to Vermont to pick up Siri from camp and then we’re off on a trip, all four of us.”

  “A change of scenery, a little adventure, that’ll be just the thing,” the doctor says.

  As the two of th
em chat about traveling, I return to my earlier thoughts about natural healers. People can heal with words too. Because now I’m feeling lighter as I reframe our flight in terms of change and adventure. I’m also reminded that there are still so many good people in the world. People like Peter Metcalfe.

  I seize him by the shoulders. Call him by his first name like he’s been asking. “Peter, thank you. I’ll do everything you said. Janie will give me those references. And when we’re on our trip, we’ll send you a real paper postcard.”

  “I’d like that,” he responds, returning my clasp.

  Two days later, as promised, we’re on our way home.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Simon

  I’ve decided to kill the cop who hurt Daddy. After I broke Keri’s nose, I’d decided not to, but I changed my mind today, when we finally took Daddy home. I’d visited Daddy in the hospital, so I knew how skinny he’d gotten and how tired he looked. But in the hospital, I couldn’t see how much it hurt him to do normal stuff like yawn or cough. And the way Daddy looked around, real fast, when he got outside. It was like I used to do at school when I was scared of Keri. At Henry’s, when I was imagining this day, I pictured jumping into Daddy’s arms and him lifting me high into the sky. In real life, Daddy didn’t even try to lift me up. Instead, he hugged me softly. I left my arms sticking out, scared to hug him back.

  I haven’t figured out how to do it yet. I think maybe hacking into the police database or something would work. Then I could see which cops were with Daddy at the demo. After that, I could cross-examine them, like Mommy does. Henry says it don’t matter anyways which cop I kill ’cause they’re all guilty. One of theirs for one of ours. That’s what Henry says. Especially if I narrow it down to who was at Battery Park. I saw the newsfeeds and the cops were all hitting and kicking and doing mean things. Still, I don’t know. I want to find the one who actually done it. I think it’s important to be exact about stuff.